Sunday, 26 June 2016

Revenge is Sweet

The second part of mine and Elinor's story is already available to pre-order. The official publication date is 12th July 2016. I am pleased to offer you a small taster of it below.

"‘You knew,’ I said, and my voice cracked with shock. ‘You knew he’d come for her.’
I turned and ran from that dreadful place. Escape was the only thing I could think of. The compulsion to get away was paramount, the need to be somewhere ... anywhere else. I knew Will would follow, but I didn’t think I could be with him at this moment in time. My flight was swift and careless. My eyes saw nothing of my surroundings and still I forced myself to run faster.
Because I wasn’t paying attention, and because all I wanted to do was escape, I failed to see the man who stepped out in front of me until it was too late. A nondescript-looking man, with heavily gloved hands, who flung a loop of silver chain around my neck, and pulled it tight. So tight that it caused me to scream in agony. Something like a concrete mallet smashed into my face, and the last thing I heard before the darkness took me, was Will’s distant voice calling my name. "

From Revenge is Sweet © Berni Stevens 2016     •     Published by Choc Lit UK 
Available across all eBook platforms.

Thursday, 16 January 2014

Dance Until Dawn

Dance Until Dawn will be published on 7th April, 2014 by Choc Lit Publishers.

For those of you who wish to read about the exploits of the London vampires – in particular, the Elder of London, then this is the book for you.

Dance Until Dawn has received its very first review – from The Bookseller magazine.

Thursday, 14 February 2013

A Vampire's Valentine

14 February 2003, Highgate, London.
      Valentine’s Day. The Victorians loved this day, they celebrated with handwritten poetry and gifts of flowers. I wonder how many of them realised the tradition stemmed from celebrations for an early Christian saint named Valentinus. Although apparently, the first association with actual romance should be accredited to Geoffrey Chaucer in the Middle Ages.
     This Valentine’s night, I sit alone, writing a journal, just as I have done for more than three hundred years. So many things have changed over the centuries, including the actual journal itself – and my writing implement. Perhaps one day I shall even use a computer, although the thought makes me smile.
      Do not waste sympathy on me, for I choose to live alone. I am dangerous. Too dangerous, perhaps, to live with others. I am a vampire – the Vampire Elder of London in fact. My responsibilities are many and varied, such is the penance for eternal life.
     I have, of course, taken many lovers, a man is a man no matter how old he may be. But none have stayed. The human lovers perished, the vampires either left, or I tired of them. Never have I found the one true love for whom my non-beating heart yearns. Until ... perhaps ... now.
     The first stirrings of the thirst alerted me a little after the grandfather clock in the hall struck nine. I needed to feed, and soon. My mind wandered to the beautiful red-haired dancer I had noticed some weeks ago at the Adelphi Theatre. For some reason I found it difficult to erase her memory. She moved like a dream, her grace and beauty so bright – like a captive star. Her personalitymesmorised me, and I have been back several times since to watch her performance. She never disappoints.

     Throwing down my pen, I stood and walked over to the window to look out at the peaceful walled garden. Moonlight picked out the tangled mass of ivy clinging to the wall, and bathed everything in a cold silvery glow. I needed to be out there. I could feel the compulsion to feed growing with every passing minute.

     Once again, I found myself standing just over the road from the stage door of the Adelphi, and I watched for my quarry from a dark doorway. Eventually the redhead come out, surrounded by her friends. They called her ‘Ellie,’ and I stored the information away for future use.
      Suddenly to my surprise, she looked across the road – directly at me – and smiled.
Could it be she had actually noticed me? An old woman stood nearby, selling long-stemmed red roses, and on impulse, I purchased them all – at an exorbitant price – and then strode swiftly across the road to ‘Ellie.’
     She stopped when I stepped in front of her, blushing furiously, and looked up at me with startling eyes like twin sapphires.
     “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said with a smile. “You dance like an angel.”
     She laughed a little self-consciously, and accepted the flowers. “Thank you, please tell my choreographer that.”
     Her friends had stopped a little way up the road to wait for her, and were looking back at us with huge smiles on their faces.
     “I have to go,” she said.
     “Of course.” I stepped back to allow her to pass. “Until we meet again then.”
     With her arms full of red roses, she walked away from me, glancing back once to smile again, before disappearing into the night.

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Summer Hours

For anyone who is not a vampire, the return to summer hours will be a joy. For those of us ruled by the hours between sunset and dawn, the extra daylight is quite simply, a pain in the neck. Yes – pun intended. As an Elder of more than three centuries, I am more able to control my waking hours, but for Elinor it is simply not possible. She prefers the winter's darkness. Vampires do not feel the cold . . .

So if you wish to be kind to vampires, you could forget to adjust your clocks this Saturday night. Just a thought.


Monday, 13 February 2012


Fledgling is available from The Wild Rose Press and in print and E-book, and from in Kindle only.

Highgate's vampires

Welcome to The London Vampire Chronicles. For anyone who has read Fledgling, this is the place where you can find out what the Elder of London and his associates are up to. Who has bitten who, for example. Or whether Will is simply sitting in his Highgate home tweeting, having recently discovered Twitter.
It is unusual for a seventeenth-century vampire to embrace all technology, but the love of his life - or death - was in life, a twenty-first century woman, and she loves internet shopping. So Will has had to give in, install broadband and buy a computer. (With a lot of sighing and grumbling it has to be said.) Then he discovered Twitter.
For anyone who has not read Fledgling, here's a taster (pardon the pun) to show the path of true love never runs smooth, even for the drop-dead gorgeous Elder vampire of London.

As we walked along Swain’s Lane toward the

cemetery, I began to wonder about getting in.

“It’ll be locked.”

Will gave me a wicked grin as he dangled a

large key in front of my nose. “Courtesy of the

Friends of Highgate Cemetery.”

“So you joined a society of ageing middle-class

snobs just to get a key?”

“No, I merely relieved one of them of the key. I

felt it was too much responsibility for her.”

Best not to delve any deeper into that little

scenario I decided. He really was a law unto himself.

When we reached the imposing gates, he did

indeed unlock them and wave me through. I gave

him a long-suffering look as I walked past him.

He locked the gates behind us, pocketing the

key, and led the way into the depths of the cemetery.

Good that I wasn’t at all scared then. I followed him

down narrow, moss-covered paths that twisted and

turned like a maze between huge Victorian tombs

and their neighbouring ivy-clad gravestones.

We passed the tomb of Queen Victoria’s dog

trainer, and startled a badger foraging for food. It

bared its ferocious yellow teeth at us, and Will bared

his own white teeth back. The badger backed off.

I looked around at the tombstones jostling

against each other, like so many uneven teeth, all

vying for the best position, with masses of dark

prolific ivy cloaking other headstones and shielding

them from human eyes.

The atmosphere was brooding and intense,

almost as though the cemetery itself was waiting for

something…or someone. Somehow, I didn’t feel

convinced we were the only supernatural visitors tonight.

Will stopped at a convenient tomb, and lowered

his lean frame to the ground. He leaned back against

the tomb, and stretched his long legs out in front of

him. As usual, he looked comfortable and completely

at ease.

“Have a seat,” he patted the grass beside him.

I reluctantly sat down, being careful not to get

too close. I didn’t think I could trust him, especially

after his display of temper earlier. I doubted

whether there would ever come a time when I didn’t

feel a bit afraid of him. He, perversely, still seemed

to believe I’d hop into bed with him sometime soon,

even after everything that had happened and

everything that had been said. Incorrigible.

Hundreds of years of never being turned down, I

suspected. It would do him good to be rejected

for a change.